


The Watcher and the Angel

by LadyLuckDoubt



Category: Bully: Scholarship Edition
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Gen Fic, Oneshot, game-based
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-02
Updated: 2011-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:24:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLuckDoubt/pseuds/LadyLuckDoubt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Occuring at the start of the mission Galloway Away, just as Jimmy sets foot in the grounds of the Happy Volts Asylum. This little side-mission turns up in either Chapter Three or Chapter Five: Jimmy is asked by an unnamed patient in the hospital to destroy the lights on a large statue (referred to as "The Watcher") in the hospital grounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Watcher and the Angel

**Author's Note:**

> I randomly had this idea when I was at the train station one day... and just started scribbling notes in my notebook. I had most of it written by the time I arrived home.
> 
> One thing I adore about Bully is how rich the world is, yet some of the missions make absolutely no sense at all. And being a nerd and a fan, I like *making* things make sense. This was my attempt at doing so, through the eyes of someone with paranoid delusions.

The Watcher stands sentry, eyes on all, guardian to both gates and mind. He is their prison officer and a figure of terrifying authority- yet at the same time, he is also a peaceful calm, a serene and untroubled- and thoroughly unshakeable deity; a strange kind of comfort. Like the godly but stern local pastor who keeps you in your place and won’t think twice about judging you, but who is a source of constance and virtue and moral guidance when you are lost- that’s The Watcher.

Though in a place like Happy Volts, constancy gets tiresome. Days bleed into one another and once you’ve been there long enough, the bleeding turns into a blur and you start to forget what day it is. If you’re indoors long enough, you forget what seasonal changes are- and if you’re on enough drugs, you forget everything, and you revert back to someone you never knew you were.

And The Watcher sees it all.

 

This terrifies George.

 

Time to shake things up a little, time to remember that there are days and seasons and that the fact that things can happen- time to throw a little clusterbomb into the routine.

Or maybe The Watcher sent one in.

 

That’s what George tells himself when the kid drops from the tree like a piece of ripened fruit- the time has come for change. And The Watcher sees all and knows about everything within the grounds- so The Watcher was behind this.

But now the kid’s here, George knows there are a few crucial free moments. The Watcher’s influence can be cracked. He’ll get some me time, some away time, his mind can have unadulterated freedom and privacy. For a little while.

And what would it do? Run rampant? Indulge the id and imagine concepts that should have been drugged out of him by now? Move towards the taboos- sex and violence and the thoughts in the back of his mind which he always pretended he never really thought about anymore?

No.

George has been planning for this, waiting for this holiday for a long time. His mind would sit in a corner and try to recuperate. All a bit pointless, really, because when The Watcher comes back, it’s back to the invasion, the lack of privacy, the panic of knowing someone else is in your mind- the edge of which is only slightly dulled by drugs- but somewhere, George has the knowledge- or maybe The Watcher does- that it’ll all be worth it for those few stolen moments.

 

The kid stands up before spotting the soul surgeons, and noting their white overalls, flinches in nearly the same sort of fear that George- and the other chosen prisoners- exhibit. Is this kid going to be one of the chosen ones? Is that how they come in- they climb the tree out of curiousity- like Eve biting the apple and Pandora opening the box- and, out of a crime no greater than curiousity- find themselves trapped as though in a parallel universe they can’t get out of? George can’t remember. But it sounds good.

The kid eyes him warily, as though he’s about to start screaming. Of course not. If he screams, he’s blown it and the soul surgeons- who don’t like changes to the routine, and who like everyone wearing the same baby blue nightshirts- will know about him. Screams are far more noticeable to them out here- they’re contrasted by other sounds- birdsong, wind, the hum from The Watcher, the crunch of leaves on the ground. Unlike inside, screams are uncommon out here. And you can’t hear the screams from inside because The Watcher makes sure that words uttered inside the building don’t leave. What happens in the building stays in the building. If these walls could talk, the saying goes... and The Watcher makes sure that they can’t.

But a scream outside would ruin the plan. And this kid has got to be an angel- angels don’t look like the other chosen prisoners, and this kid doesn’t- there’s a grim determination- and an innocent kind of fear- all over his face- and he’s wearing neither white overalls like the soul surgeons nor blue nightshirts like the chosen prisoners. He’s the boy-angel, come to save them all.

And he’s ducked down behind the bushes.

"Hey, kid... can you help me?"  
What else to say? He’s an angel, and George is almost lost for words. Of course angels are humble, though, and pointing out that he’s an angel- or showing any kind of extreme reverence- might offend him.

The kid eyes him warily.

"Can you be my friend?"

Still ducking down, he replies. "Sure." He looks towards the door, but George, overcome with sheer want for The Watcher to be out of business for awhile- indicates the figure by the garden bed. "You have to take out The Watcher."

The angel nods, and slingshot in hand, creeps behind the bushes stealthily. George watches the soul surgeons carefully. He doesn’t want to tip them off- the soul surgeons don’t like people talking about angels- and probably don’t like angels- anyway- so better to keep both himself- and the angel- safe.

He pretends not to notice as he sees the angel appear on the rooftop of the old shed out front. He carefully observes the last remaining gnome left next to the flowerbed while he watches the angel positioning himself on the rooftop. It’s about the three of them, they all have their places. The Watcher stands sentry over the prisoners, he, George, will stand sentry over the angel, making sure the soul surgeons don’t find out about him- and the angel will free them all for a few moments of peace.

There is a crack of heavenly uproar as the generator next to The Watcher shatters. As though frozen in time, George stands up to gaze at The Watcher, now engulfed in flames from the lights surrounding him, as though even electricity has turned on him. He’s trying to look peaceful and serene, but his face looks indifferent and troubled, as though he’s trying to avoid showing emotion.

The soul searchers have noticed. Two of them race out towards where George is standing, there’s a mutter of "Great... that’s just what we need- another Watcher stampede" and they reach for George’s arms aggressively.

But he goes without violence, filled with a sense of elation at the freedom he has. The world looks greener and softer- except for the angry flames rushing around at The Watcher, of course- and for however long- he has this sense of achievement, of freedom and bliss.

He looks at the rooftop while dragged away, silently thanking the angel.

But the angel has gone.


End file.
